


Fever

by lysanatt



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Actor RPF - Freeform, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Spoilers, Post S8, RPF, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas and the otherwise so mild Vancouver is hit by a rare blizzard. Misha is hit by the flu and Jensen is hit by the urge to take care of Misha. Of course there are unexpected consequences to it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ljunattainable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/gifts).



> Dear ljunattainable. I couldn't decide which prompt to write, so I tried to mix and match your prompts and likes: Christmas, romance, hurt/comfort, actor RPF and a happy end. I hope you like the result. Merry Christmas!
> 
> The two Tweets quoted in the fic are ~~stolen~~ borrowed from Misha's Twitter. Also thanks to M for beta. This work is post S8, but contains no spoilers. This is a work of fiction. Reality... Porn... You know the difference.

**Fever**

Snot doesn't look sexy on Misha. In fact, it looks so unbecoming that Jensen would have excluded the idea of touching the man, like, until he'd been properly disinfected. But Jensen has been harboring this secret crush on his co-star so long that it looks suspiciously like being in love; he'll touch Misha whenever the possibility arises, becoming or unbecoming. With his puffy eyes, his red nose, and the bleary expression, Misha looks horrible. That he's surrounded by half a box of unused Kleenex and a floor full of used ones... Not on.

"You're disgusting," Jensen says first thing, skipping diplomacy in favor of honesty. "Seriously, man." He eyes the t-shirt Misha's wearing. It might have been clean once. Last week, perhaps. The bedroom smells of sickness and stale air.

"I'm not feeling well," coughs Misha, no traces of his usually so chipper self. "Could you just gimme some water and let me die in peace?" That there is no clever comeback tells Jensen more than anything that Misha's probably close to his sell-by date.

"Smells like you've been dead for days, dude." Jensen steps over the mountain of soaked tissues on the carpet and opens a window. "Why didn't you call me?"

"You're mean," Misha whines and pulls the comforter over his head. "Phone was too far away."

Jensen sighs. Misha is such a baby. An overgrown, half-crazy and flu-ridden baby, but still. "Look, you can't stay like this, Mish."

Dark brown messy hair and one fever-glazed blue eye is all Jensen can see. "I'm cold."

"Yeah, that's what fresh December air does to you," Jensen growls and closes the window again, brushing a few snow flakes off his sleeve He looks around in the small apartment. It needs a thorough cleaning. "I'm going to draw you a bath." He looks at the mess that is Misha and the bed and the floor. Misha really is down with the flu, no doubt about it. "You're supposed to visit your parents during the hols?" Jensen almost-asks, knowing already that Misha should have left by now. Jensen didn't exactly look forward to the Christmas hiatus; two weeks without seeing Misha doesn't sit well with him.

It takes a moment before Misha emerges from the pile of blankets and comforters. "Couldn't go," he manages, sounding tired and weak. He's quiet for a second. "You?"

"Not in this weather, no," Jensen says, not sure Misha is actually listening. "Delayed flights, snowstorm, roads closed."

"Eh?" Misha lets out, making it sound more as if he's in pain than a question.

"Vancouver is snowed in." Jensen realizes that Misha probably hadn't heard or seen the news for a few days. "As I said, blizzard. Almost no flights outta here," Jensen says. "Everything that leaves is booked, and booked twice. My flight was cancelled, don't know when I can get another. I've my travel agent working on it." That Jensen reluctantly has embraced the inevitable—that he probably can't get to his parents' house for Christmas—is quite another thing. His parents mean well. God, he loves them and he loves Josh and Mac, but he can't take yet another encouraging and somewhat condescending comment about starting to date again and about getting back on the horse. From any of them. And the badly hidden attempts to hook him up with some giddy friend of Mac's or the next-door busty Asian beauty? Jensen could certainly do without, thank you very much. Jensen isn't sure he'd even want to go if his travel agent finds him a flight. Too many lies. Too big an obstacle.

Basically, Jensen is looking at the core of the problem right this instant; a handsome, blue-and-bleary-eyed problem. Misha has been good for him, though: if Jensen hadn't fallen so hard for Misha, it would probably have taken him much longer to realize that he prefers men. Only Jared has guessed. Not too difficult, though, after some drunken groping one night after filming. The problem is that his family doesn't know. The problem is that Jensen has to consider very carefully what he's going to do about it.

Jensen eyes the man in the bed. He wants to explain to his parents at some point because Jensen doesn't think he's going to bring home a girl next time just as he doesn't want to bring home more lies. His decision has nothing and everything to do with how he feels about Misha. Only Jensen is not sure he's ready to come out. Not yet.

As for coming out, Jensen is pretty sure that nothing will come out of his crush on Collins; Jensen thinks that Misha, given the opportunity, would much rather have Jared. Jensen envies the two of them, the casual way they touch and joke and play and then touch some more. He wishes that he was able to touch Misha the relaxed way that Jared touches and caresses and frigging _pets_ him. And Misha, soaking in Jared's attention, loves it. The mere thought of Jared's large hands on Misha makes Jensen's heart beat wildly: jealousy, want, need. He knows that there is no reason to be jealous, though, except there is.

Jensen is not as comfortable with his sexuality and no matter how good friends they are, the three of them, Jensen is always holding back, just a little, as not to reveal how attracted he is to Misha. Jensen knows that Jared isn't interested in men (except for that little bit of experimental Jensen-groping). Misha... he's not interested in Jensen, not that Jensen has ever—he doesn't think so, at least—given Misha reason to think that he'd like him to take an interest. Jensen would love to be like Jared when he and Misha are fooling around, nothing serious or sexual. But to touch Misha so easily, to be able to hold him and... oh, God!

As it is, Jensen takes what he can get, even if it is just taking care of Miserable Misha and his Flu of Death.

"You okay?" Misha croaks from his cocoon in the bed. "Jen?"

Jensen pulls himself out of the bubble he's been in. "Yeah, erm. Yes. It was... that bath." Jensen throws Misha's spare key on the dresser and goes to run a bath for his friend.

He waits until the tub is half full, hot water steaming, before he finds a bottle of bubble bath and pours some in. The air fills with a fresh scent of mint that Jensen recognizes as Misha's usual. He waits until the bubbles threaten to leave the tub before he shuts off the stream of water. He dampens the light to a pleasant golden glow that won't hurt Misha's eyes. Then he goes to excavate the body.

Misha is asleep again. His breathing is heavy and raspy. Jensen can't stop himself from reaching out, his hand an inch from Misha's fever-heated face. Jensen bites his lip and slides a finger down Misha's temple. A vein is throbbing there: the fast pulsing of blood just beneath the thin skin. Jensen is reluctant to move away. Misha turns into the touch, humming softly in his sleep. It's so tempting to stay there, his fingers against Misha's warmth. Despite everything, snot and stuffed nose and the days-old stubble, Misha is _beautiful_. Jensen sighs. It's hard to want so much and never get. He puts his hand in his pocket, perhaps to stop himself from touching Misha again.

"Mish?"

"Mhm." Misha opens one eye, a narrow line of white and blue.

"Bath. You smell."

"Why don't you say what you _really_ think," Misha croaks. "You'd smell too."

"No, because I wouldn't be as stupid as to lie in bed with a fever, making people worry about me because I haven't showed up where I was supposed to show up. I'd have called _me_." Jensen so loves his higher moral ground. Jensen is never late. Except of course when Vancouver is hidden under a blanket of snow and the winds are howling and there's ice everywhere, including on the planes that were supposed to transport them out of Canada. "Should I call your mom, or are you able to stay conscious long enough to do it yourself?"

"Sounds like my mom's already here," Misha shoots back in a pathetic attempt to behave as if he's alive.

"Sure it does, baby," Jensen jokes. "Now, be a good boy and go bathe, and remember to brush your teeth and don't forget to dress warmly and bring your mittens."

Misha peels off the layers of blankets. "It's cold. Could work. Mittens." It speaks, but it still look like a dead cat somebody else dragged in.

"And so's the bath if you don't get your ass to the bathroom, Collins. Out," Jensen orders. "You need clean sheets. And everything else." Wrinkling his nose, Jensen looks at the bed and the mess of used cups and glasses and the dirty tissues on the floor. Jensen takes pity in Misha; he truly isn't well. Misha's not usually a pig; the mess at the bed tells precisely how sick Misha must be feeling. "You need help?" Somehow Jensen hopes Misha will say yes. Jensen knows it's wrong, but it allows him to touch Misha without being afraid that it'd be misunderstood.

"Please?" Misha looks up at Jensen, his eyes big and innocent. "I'm dizzy." He grabs at Jensen's shirt and crunches a handful of cotton firmly in one hand. "Jensen?"

Misha's hand burns hotly against Jensen's chest and he berates himself for thinking that kind of thoughts about Misha in his current state. Luckily Misha sneezes and sniffs and Jensen is able to pull himself out of this inappropriate line of thought. Snot? Check. Sneezing? Check. Coughing? Check. Much better. Not sexy. He pulls a Kleenex from the box and hands it to Misha. "Christ, you're charming."

"Love you too," Misha murmurs, his nose buried in the tissue.

 _If only_. Jensen wraps his arm around Misha's waist and leads him into the bathroom. Misha isn't shy. He leans against Jensen as he pulls off the disgusting excuse for a t-shirt that he's been wearing for... too long.

Jensen makes an almost inaudible hiss. Misha's naked torso is rubbing against his arm. He forces himself not to do anything but to breathe ever so slowly. He's seen Misha without a shirt on before, of course, but not like this, pressed against him in a cramped bathroom. So Misha is sick and smelly, but that instant Jensen doesn't care. Misha is everything he ever wanted, snot and vira included.

Of course that is the moment when Misha, oblivious to Jensen's suffering, decides to reach down and remove the boxers he's wearing.

Jensen flees.

*

Jensen sleeps uncomfortably on Misha's couch. Misha has been tugged in, clean linen and blankets and a comforter that has been aired for half an hour. A side order of tea, cough meds and veggie soup has left the patient fed and relatively content. Bathing, shaving and eating all have made Misha feel better. The weather, however, is not better. Jensen looks out the window once, seeing nothing but snowflakes whirling in the strong wind. He gives up on going back to his house. To be honest, he'd rather not go anywhere but where Misha is. Jensen borrows one of Misha's t-shirts (too small) and a blanket (too short) and the couch (too narrow) and tries to fall asleep. When he wakes up to an icy dawn, the daylight little more than a light gray on the sky, he doesn't feel rested at all.

The bedroom is quiet. Maybe Misha has finally been able to fall asleep in between the coughing fits and the nose-blowing.

Jensen lies on the couch, staring into the ceiling. There's a spot near the wall that looks like Michael Jackson on a bad day. Jensen decides that it's not a sign. It's just a discoloration that needs paint. He looks at his watch. He should get up and check whether his travel agent has found him another flight. If what little he can see of the morning sky through the curtains is any indication, there will be few—if any—flights out of Vancouver. Jensen's chapped lips stretch into a bitter smile. It hurts a little, just like the situation he's in, being caught so close to the man he wants. It feels both good and not so good.

He goes to make breakfast. Something light and easy on a sore throat for Misha, toast and coffee for himself. He puts tea and yogurt and sliced fruit on a tray, then picking it up. Then he puts it back down on the kitchen table and places the coffee and the buttered toast next to Misha's meal. Misha is still sleeping when Jensen quietly slips into the apartment's one bedroom. He places the tray on the bed, on the side not slept in. Jensen straightens up, then takes a step towards the chair before he regrets and steps closer to the side of the bed with Misha in it. Misha breathes more evenly now, not as strained. Jensen's fingers tingle with need, it's like a special kind of magnetism. Jensen knows he shouldn't, but he does it anyway; he slides a finger down Misha's slightly stubbled cheek, enjoying the moment of one-sided intimacy. 

"What ya doin', Ackles?" Misha opens his eyes and they're clear and awake.

Pulling away his hand as fast as if he'd burned it, Jensen suppresses a gasp. "Noth- checking your fever."

"Usually one would use a thermometer," Misha says, and either fever or mirth sparkle in his eyes. "But if you'd rather-"

"I didn't mean to-"

"You're a god! Mmm!" Misha's attention span is more flaky than that of a goldfish. "You made me breakfast!"

"Did the best with what was left."

Misha smiles, and even his runny nose and his crusty eyes look gorgeous when illuminated by that smile. "I think I love you," Misha exclaims enthusiastically as he fights to sit up against the headboard. "Yes, coffee!"

"But that-" Jensen looks longingly at the cup of coffee, somehow for a few seconds not hearing Misha utter _those_ exact words. Misha's joking, of course, but Jensen would anything to hear them spoken once more, with feeling. Love. If only...

"Sit," Misha orders. It clearly takes very little to get Misha back to his usual evil-overlord-taking-over-world-dominion self.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jensen sits down on the bed, reaching for the tea with a sigh. Damned, he needed that coffee. He swings his legs up into the bed, moaning with pleasure as he sinks down into the soft mattress. So much better than the couch. Stretching out is heaven. He wraps his fingers around the hot mug, relishing the warmth.

"Didn't know you take tea in the morning. Don't you usually get coffee?" Misha asks, annoyingly alert. "Oh, I took... it was your-" Misha waves with a hand in Jensen's general direction. "Not sorry. Needed this. Tea's good for erm- _something_. Hot bandages. Or stomach aches. You should try it."

Jensen can't stay cranky. "The stomach ache? Think I'll pass." He mock glares at Misha, glad that his friend feels better. He sends _his_ coffee a longing look. "And now that you've stolen my coffee, you're cured? At least you speak now. In sentences." He laughs, Misha does that to him. He takes a drink of the tea. Herbal, not too bad. Tastes like peppermint and nettles. Surrendering to his fate, Jensen takes an apple slice. Not too bad, either. He likes apples.

Misha drinks some more coffee and wolfs down a piece of toast. "I think the fever has gone down a bit," he volunteers, but his eyes have that tired, glazed-over expression again. "Thanks, Jen."

Jensen reaches for Misha's hand. He rarely initiates physical contact between the two of them; it's too dangerous. He wraps his fingers around Misha's, squeezing them lightly. Misha turns his hand and entangles his fingers with Jensen's. Jensen can hardly hold back a shiver. The words tumble out, one falling over the next: "You're welcome, but it's what everyone'd have done."

"So how come you're the only one here? I like that you take care of me," Misha says, overtaken by a yawn. "I think I'd like to sleep. I'm cold again."

"Oh. Okay," Jensen says. "I'll just-" He puts the cup down on the nightstand.

Misha doesn't let go of Jensen's other hand. "Stay? Just until I'm asleep?" Misha's eyes are very blue. Very puppy-like, despite the color.

There is no way Jensen can say no. Also, the bed _is_ very comfortable and the mattress very soft. "Could take a nap, your couch isn't that-"

"Jensen-sized?" Misha purrs and moves closer, almost snuggling up to Jensen. "I'll share," he says and pulls the comforter over Jensen's legs. "Because you're warm," Misha murmurs and closes his eyes, his hand still in Jensen's.

 _Again with the horse and the mouth_ , Jensen thinks and slides further down into the bed, unable to refuse Misha. He sighs deeply, his heart beating a bit fast, no wonder. He's never been this close to the man of his dreams, not in this intimate, relaxed way. Usually the touching—apart from occasional hugs—is a game; Jensen playing Jensen at a con or at an interview, or the three of them, Jared included, mock-fighting or goofing around when they're alone. This? It's something else entirely and Jensen's going to enjoy every second of it. It might very well be the only chance he's ever going to get. It's just a taste, a tidbit of what could have been, had Misha wanted him; a few moments of intense bliss.

As it is, it's a question of minutes. Jensen falls asleep almost as fast as Misha. When he wakes up, he's the big spoon, one arm wound tightly around Misha's waist. Somehow he'd never let go of Misha's hand. It is still cradled like a small bird in Jensen's larger palm.

For a second Jensen freezes, panic-stricken. He gasps against Misha's warm shoulder, anxiety breathed out in a sharp, damp puff. Then he forces himself to relax. He wants to stay like this, preferably until they both have to return to the set in January, but less will do. Jensen thinks that it might rise suspicion if he expresses a wish for Misha to stay cuddled up to him for two weeks straight. Or at all. Jensen breathes slowly, calm intakes of air, as much to quiet himself as not to wake up Misha. Jensen lies back into the pillows again, cherishing the feeling of Misha's slender waist under his hand and of the slightly protruding shoulder blade pressing against his own chest.

Then Misha stirs, coughs and turns, looking over his shoulder at Jensen. "Jen?"

The panic is back, a sensation of ice inside him, enhanced by the cold whiff of air when the comforter lifts and Misha turns around fully. "Sorry, I... I'm-"

Misha sneezes, sits up and fumbles for a tissue. He blows his nose—how charming—and pokes Jensen in the chest with a finger. "Still tired," Misha rasps and pulls at the comforter. "Fuck, it's cold."

Jensen isn't sure how it happens, but he finds himself on his back, Misha in his arms, one slender leg thrown over his own. "Mmhm," Misha sighs and wipes his nose in Jensen's t-shirt.

It should be disgusting, but Jensen is too far gone to care. Misha is hopelessly adorable when he's sick. "Mish?" Jensen says, not sure what he's asking.

"Warm," Misha just says and smiles, his eyes closed. He reaches up and slides a fever-hot hand around Jensen's neck. "Sleep."

Yeah, right. With Misha draped around him, Jensen is _so_ not going to fall asleep. He's still in panic. Also he's surprised, aroused, in love. And most of all, he has no idea what Misha is doing; whether it's the way Misha behaves when he's in bed with the flu, or if it is how he behaves when he's in bed with _Jensen_. Sometimes it would be so much easier if Jensen allowed himself to channel a bit of Winchester into his life: Cas would have been laid ages ago if Jensen had been Dean and he had Cas staring at him so adoringly. In Jensen's opinion, Dean's an idiot. Not all the time; it's mostly when it comes to embracing, well, Cas. Okay, so there's a bit of wishful thinking involved, but Misha does make Cas look like he's deeply in love with Dean.

It occurs to Jensen that he's as much an idiot as Dean, however for other reasons. He's been in love with Misha for so long that it has become a habit to passively watch what he cannot have. He's got so many excuses to avoid even trying to woo Misha. Career. Family. Friends. His entire life, _everything_ will be upturned if he exposes himself. If Misha doesn't want him it will be a disaster that upturns his life. If Misha _does_ want him it'll be a disaster, too , for Jensen is, despite his reserved nature and his need for privacy, not one to stay in the closet. Forcing a lover to hide in there with him is not Jensen's style and he is painfully aware what it will do to his life. Also, anyone wanting to hide Misha in a closet should better have access to frigging Narnia: Misha is too large for any other closet, wardrobe, dresser or cupboard in the universe. Perhaps a black hole would do, but they aren't that fun to hide in, Jensen's certain. Although with Misha one would never know.

Jensen looks at Misha, or as much of Misha as he can see, what with him curled up against his chest. Misha is always true to himself; that is one of the things about him Jensen admires. Before he can stop himself, he caresses Misha's back; slow, lazy strokes that makes Jensen wish he was more courageous, wish that he dared take risks instead of clinging to the familiar and safe. He'd felt secure in the conviction that he wasn't even on Misha's radar; now Jensen's not sure how to interpret the sudden and strange intimacy between them. But it is like a tiny light in the dark that Misha wants Jensen's touch and to touch in return. Maybe Jensen's assumptions regarding Misha's preferences really have been wrong? Jensen frowns, mulling over the possibilities. He was so sure that Misha would have Jared if he wanted to take a man to bed.

And here Jensen is, Misha pressed tight against his body and no Jared in sight. _Surprising_ doesn't cover it.

The thought makes Jensen laugh softly. He _is_ in bed with Misha, and Misha certainly doesn't mind. Misha might be sick, but he's not stupid: if he hadn't wanted Jensen this close, Jensen'd still be on the couch. The revelation makes him feel as if there truly is a sliver of hope that Misha mightn't be adverse to Jensen's advances.

And as he lies there, looking into the dim morning light outside through a narrow opening between the curtains, warm and content with Misha in his arms, Jensen knows he has come to a crossroads.

Not one of those where Dean would sell his soul in exchange for the life of his beloved brother, but one that feels almost as scary. There are chances to be taken and Jensen is certain that it really _is_ now or never. He's been given a chance, a few days to explore their relationship. Precious days, taking care of Misha, being with him: Jensen will use to the fullest what little time he has got.

What he is not going to use, though, is the fact that Misha has a fever and might be a little more interested in the comfort Jensen offers than he'd be otherwise. Still, Jensen can't think of anything he'd rather do than stay in Misha's bed, but he cannot. He is, on the bottom line, Texas-bred, and a gentleman. So he strokes Misha's back one final time, leans down to press his lips to Misha's messy hair and entangles himself from their embrace. He pulls the comforter over Misha and leaves the bedroom in favor of a shower.

Jensen feels cold, and not just because it's snowing outside.

And snow it does. The winds are strong and it is difficult to walk anywhere; everything is icy and wet and slippery. Driving is downright impossible, at least for anyone without a death wish or a sturdy SUV. Knowing that he's probably staying for yet another day, Jensen makes his way to the closest store, stocking up on just about everything and with as much as he can carry. The weather certainly isn't the usual fare in mild Vancouver. Probably some arctic outflow, Jensen doesn't know. The two feet of snow that cover the roads don't give an answer to that.

Returning with groceries enough to last them a week, Jensen makes a late second breakfast, or late lunch, if one is to be precise. Knowing better now, he butters toast which he piles with scrambled eggs and tomatoes and cheese. Coffee for both of them; Jensen has no urge to drink more nettle tea, he wants his coffee. As Jensen stands there in Misha's tiny kitchen he wonders if he'll ever have this with Misha: a slow lazy morning, with slow lazy caresses. It has been a long time since Jensen has felt so rested and so relaxed. Funny that, seeing how high maintenance and hyper Misha usually is. Jensen pulls up a tray, wondering for a moment whether Misha will be well enough to eat in the living room. Eating in the bedroom leads to bed-sitting, and bed-sitting leads to cuddling with Misha which again leads to half-naked snuggling, and that particular exercise Jensen cannot afford, not yet. Not until Misha's fever is down and his brain is up and running.

If Misha is still willing by then.

*

With the tray filled with various delicacies he'd like to share with Misha, Jensen sets the low coffee table. Fruit and coffee, bread and butter, the eggs and the toast and some of the organic sausages that Misha kept in the freezer. It's mouthwatering, seeing that all he got this morning was a few slices of apple. Opening the curtains to the bleak winter day and the cold, Jensen finds some blankets stored away behind the comfy chair. He fluffs the pillows, shakes out the blankets and sits. He wants to go wake up Misha, but he doesn't trust himself enough to walk into the bedroom again. If Misha offers, he'd be under that comforter in a second, his body pressed against Misha's. God, he'd do it, no questions asked. Instead he turns on the TV, hoping the sound will wake Misha up. He waits, using the time to check his mail on the phone. His travel agent has booked a flight for him on Monday.

A light coughing and sneezing and the less than delicious sound of nose-blowing announce that Misha is indeed awake. Jensen can hear water running in the bathroom; at least Misha is able to perform standard human skills by himself by now. It's a relief. Jensen's sure he wouldn't be able to witness Misha stripping again, not without doing something unfortunate. Like telling Misha how much he wants to throw him on the nearest horizontal surface and ravish him until-

Jensen stops that line of thought and pours himself some coffee. Distraction. He is half hard, the mere thought of Misha naked is too delicious, now that he's seen all there is to see. Jensen burns his tongue on the too-hot coffee.

"Ouch." He winces, sucking in air, sticking the tip of his tongue out to cool. 

"Want me to kiss it better?" Misha is leaning against the door frame, cradling his box of Kleenex. "French roast? Could be with all the tongue you put into it."

"What? Fren- No!" Jensen closes his mouth almost without biting down on his tongue. "Ow! What?"

"Coffee, Jen. Did you use _Kona_ or the _El Burro_ French roast?" Misha looks better.

He obviously also thinks better, for Jensen is lost there for a moment. Seems like Misha and the Crazy are once more united. Makes Jensen scared. "Kona. How do you feel?" Jensen asks, trying to collect himself and to bury the idea of Misha sucking his sore tongue. It's not going too well.

"Like having some of that coffee. And half as bad as yesterday, which is to say... craptastic." Misha flops down on the couch next to Jensen, not as expected in the opposite corner, no, but _next_ to him, his naked thigh against Jensen's jeans-clad one, his shoulder rubbing against Jensen's. "But the fever is down and I still have some tissues left." Misha dumps the Kleenex-box on the table and wraps a blanket around himself. "Could be worse. Now I can really enjoy that you're taking care of me," he grins and leans closer, reaching for the coffee.

God, Jensen is _so_ fucked!

They eat and watch the news in comfortable silence. Luckily Misha has a better understanding of personal space that his angelic alter ego, but not by much. He doesn't retreat to the other end of the couch, but he moves away far enough to let Jensen breathe, which again means that Jensen's almost got his arousal under control, partly distracted by the unpleasant weather report.

Finishing his coffee, Misha puts the mug down and settles into the soft pillows, legs curled up under the woolly blanket. His eyes are still tired and feverish when he turns and looks at Jensen. "I'm glad you're here, Jen," Misha says quietly. "I was feeling really sick yesterday." Misha's quiet gratitude tells Jensen exactly how much the care and comfort mean to him. Misha leans into Jensen's shoulder, and it is all that Jensen can keep himself from putting an arm around Misha. He probably shouldn't even think of that. Hugging and cuddling lead to Jensen's hard resolve dissolving; said resolve turning into something that is clearly made from a mix between marshmallows and puppies and melted butter.

"You're welcome," Jensen says. "I couldn't leave you like that, Mish."

"Your flight? When do you..." Misha pauses and Jensen frowns. Misha sounds insecure. "When do you have to leave?"

"On Monday. If the weather..." Nodding in the direction of the TV where yet another round of pictures shows the packed roads, Jensen cannot decide whether he should offer to go back to his and Jared's house until he can catch a flight out of Vancouver.

"That's Christmas Eve? And it's Saturday now, yes? Sorry, been out of the loop." Misha manages one of his usual boyish grins. It's ruined by yet another sneezing fit. "At least the coughing has stopped," Misha says, nose buried in a Kleenex. "I'm in a hurry, then?"

"Depends." Puzzled, Jensen raises an inquiring eyebrow. "What'ya wanna do?"

"Get well and take over the universe," Misha informs him modestly. "Shouldn't take more than two days. I might not manage to get back at the flu, but if we work together, we can have the universe under our control by Monday morning."

"Splendid." Jensen rolls his eyes. "Good thing that my flight leaves in the afternoon. Should leave us some time if your plan needs a make-over. Until then, I'm all yours."

"Great! I always wanted a personal slave, obeying my every whim." Misha smiles enthusiastically. "I think it goes well with taking over world dominion. And you know, you'd look great in one of those skimpy Roman soldier's skirts." Misha isn't smiling. He's smirking.

"Misha! You've been watching Spartacus again."

"A little." Misha closes his eyes and grimaces before he looks at Jensen again. "Oh, I didn't think! It is a bit too cold for a skirt, isn't it, and I doubt it'd look stylish with a sweater. Leather pants and naked chest, then? You may wear boots."

"How gracious of you." Jensen face-palms, firm in his resolve not to tell Misha what it looks like when _he_ stars in Jensen's fantasies wearing leather and a naked chest. Yeah, Misha naked and spread out under Jensen, begging for-

"Misha," Jensen manages hoarsely. "I hate you."

"Mkay," Misha sighs. "I'll just work with what we have, then." He looks up at Jensen in the exact same way that Cas looks at Dean, all innocent-eyed and adoring. And Jensen melts. He can't determine whether Misha is playing him just that instant; Misha is able to look totally angelic and gullible while at the same time brewing up some kind of evil master-plan that makes American politics look like a game for children.

"You're beyond redemption," Jensen sighs, unable to keep himself from laughing. Misha is incredible.

"Entirely," Misha grins. "My first demand, then. I still have a fever and I wanna sleep some more. Being an overlord is positively exhausting." He slides down a bit, poking at Jensen's thigh. "Hard." He grabs a pillow, places it in Jensen's lap and lies down before Jensen can react. Misha sighs deeply. "Oh, that was nice. Just remember," Misha murmurs as he slips an arm around Jensen's back, "that you are mine, and I can do with you as I please."

No, Jensen isn't merely fucked. He looks at Misha, his face three inches from his crotch, and Jensen knows for certain that he is not only severely fucked, no, he is royally screwed in a way that would make the headlines, had there been an award for being the most royally screwed man on Earth. Also, he knows with a deep certainty that he is utterly, madly, irrevocably in love with Misha, and what is worse:

Jensen has a rising suspicion that Misha knows it too.

*

The rest of the day and half of the next Misha is asleep most of the time, thank God, for Jensen isn't sure how to react to the possibility that he unknowingly has revealed his feelings. It's either that, or Jared has hinted, which to Jensen is just about as likely as snow in June and a week with two Tuesdays in it. Jared would never out Jensen to anyone. Jensen is split. He'd like to leave, doing what he does well: avoiding the problem by fleeing from it. He knows that he has to look it in the eye at some point. Or rather look Misha in the eye and tell him... everything.

Jensen isn't ready to deal with the consequences although he is very, very ready to deal with Misha. So avoidance looks very attractive from Jensen's point of view.

There's the snag, though, that no matter how uncomfortable Jensen feels, he won't abandon a sick friend in the middle of a blizzard. Leaving Misha to fend for himself during the worst weather Vancouver has seen for decades is not an option. Not on, so not on. Jensen conveniently represses the fact that his travel agent has booked a flight for him on Christmas Eve.

Misha really is too sick to be left alone which makes staying a bit less dangerous: Misha isn't doing much work in the direction of enslaving Jensen, or on the world domination, for that matter. Jensen assumes that it, even for Misha the Invincible, is difficult to be a convincing overlord when one is lovingly attached to a box of Kleenex and the color of one's nose makes Rudolph the Reindeer pale with envy.

So Jensen stays.

It's a relief when Misha simply disappears into the bedroom and falls asleep again after waking up in Jensen's lap. Later, Jensen braves the temptation and brings Misha some soup and another helping of toast and cheese and eggs, all which is devoured while Jensen retreats into the living room using a lame excuse about a similary lame film on TV. He spends the night on the couch, back sore, and wakes up grumpy and cold to the less than pleasant sound of his smartphone alarm.

He palms at the phone to make it stop.

_YVR-DFW  
Monday, Dec 24th, 2:29pm_

The small letters remind Jensen that his time with Misha is running out. He hasn't come any closer to a solution, or at least a decision on what to do, on the contrary. It scares him that Misha might have figured out that Jensen is in love with him. It scares Jensen because he feels awkward and he doesn't know how to make it stop. And what happens if he leaves Misha and the unresolved problem? Will it be just as awkward when he returns in January? Will Misha have forgotten? Jensen doesn't know which scenario he dislikes the most.

The sound of the alarm serves yet another purpose. It wakes up Misha who has clearly benefited from the long rest. He looks rather well when he, dressed in a snug t-shirt and pajama pants two sizes too big, walks into the living room. He's carrying a blue jacket.

"Have you seen my phone?" Turning out the pockets of his down jacket, Misha looks a tad frustrated. "No Twitter for three days! My minions miss me, I'm sure. Could start revolutions, that. They probably suspect that I've been abducted by aliens due to the brilliance that is me," Misha laughs. "Even the famous Jensen Ackles is drawn to my incredible magnetism. Large enough to pull a spaceship into our solar system, dude!"

"World Wide Web, beware, here comes the Misha." Jensen takes Misha's smartphone from the side table and holds it up. "This one? As for the aliens... maybe they are just looking for the beacon of confidence you have working for you? Maybe you should share? Probably enough for the entire planet and then some."

"That's the one." Misha stops to pull up his pajama pants that hang a bit low on his hips. "You think I have an addiction, yes?"

"A small one," Jensen says, unable to stop looking at the spot where the pyjama pants reveal one of Misha's hipbones. Jensen wants to fall on his knees in front of Misha and lick the spot. He forces himself to look at Misha's face.

"But they're my minions!" Misha declares. "Well, not all of them, but they're so much fun!" Misha smiles, obviously fond of his fans.

Jensen never understood Misha's fascination with his _Mishamigos_. Jensen admires, however, how elegantly Misha navigates the dangers of the Internet, a place where Jensen only reluctantly hangs out. Not that he doesn't like the fans, he does, but he doesn't have this rapport with them that Misha has, the ease with which he dances around, deflects and avoids every question he doesn't want to answer. Misha's fans are on his side, always, Jensen thinks. Then again, so is he, so that isn't surprising.

Jensen shakes his head. "Twitter would have only half the number of users and messages if you weren't there. They should pay you."

"And how would you know? You'd never seen a Tweet in your life." Misha returns to the couch, stealing the blanket that keeps Jensen from freezing.

"I so have," Jensen protests, trying to get the blanket back, but Misha is clinging to it. "I saw the one where you called Jared and me dysfunctional male underwear models or something like that." Jensen isn't sure what makes him mention the other Tweet, the one that had him in a snit for a week, but he can't stop himself. " And I saw the one about us, I mean, about Cas and Dean being gayer than those other guys... the wolf kids. Teen Wolf," Yeah, Jensen had seen that one. And the posts at After Elton.

"And aren't we? Gayer?" Misha asks. "I mean, we're... Cas, he is so in love with Dean. He means the world to him. Cas would do anything for him, and-" Misha forgets to hold on to the blanket and it slips from his hands.

"Misha?" Jensen is suddenly breathless. They've never really spoken about Dean and Cas's relationship. Not that part of it, anyway. About their bond, yes. About their friendship, obviously. About how they love each other, surely, all Platonic and angelic. But they've never talked about the want and the being in love and the need and the burning, gigantic love story that is buried in the plot somewhere. The story that they all, on some level, know is being played out on the screen every time Cas and Dean are together. It's a painful love story, but it is there.

Misha is suddenly very quiet, very serious. He breathes in, coughs, and swallows before he looks at Jensen again. "Share?" he asks and pulls at the corner of the blanket.

Jensen doesn't reply. He just spreads the blanket over them both, waiting. Waiting for Misha's next move.

Only Misha just sits there, on the couch, quiet, thoughtful. "You believe it too, don't you? That they're in love? That the only one for Cas is Dean?"

It shouldn't be surprising. That is how Misha has always played Cas. Dean is his world. "I..." Jensen wants to dare agree. He wants to say it out loud, and more than anything he wants daring to admit that it is not just a Cas and Dean thing. It's a Jensen thing too.

"I can see it in the way Dean looks at Cas. He's in love, Jensen, deeply in love and it scares him. He's so... loyal and caring and-" Misha's lips curl into a small smile, as if he's thinking of something pleasant. "Dean is very good at hiding what he feels. But those who know him well... they see it."

"Know what?" Jensen whispers, unable to get out more sound than that. This conversation is moving in a direction that makes Jensen nervous.

"That you prefer men," Misha says. "I mean... that _Dean_ prefers erm- Cas. The women... they're just to cover it up."

"Oh, God," Jensen just says and hides his face in his hands. The Freudian slip isn't lost on him. Only Misha doesn't do Freudian slips, for Misha always says and does exactly what he likes to say. No filter between his mind and his mouth. "Oh, God," Jensen groans again, still with his hands on his face.

"Just Misha," Misha says softly. " _God_ 's for people who don't know me as well as you do."

"I really, really hate you," Jensen chokes.

"Aw, where's the love, baby," Misha asks, "the care?"

"You do remember who saved you from dying of man-flu, right?" Jensen grabs the chance to steer their conversation away from the minefield that is his feelings for Misha. Or Dean's for Cas, not that they are especially separate as it is. "You'd have perished without me," Jensen says, snorting indignantly. "Better show me some gratitude."

"Oh, I would _certainly_ like to. Anything particular in mind?" Misha winks. "I'll do anything for the brave knight who saved my life and made me coffee."

Jensen stops breathing. He is sure he's blushing. He grasps at the nearest straw. The Xbox. " _Left 4 Dead_?" he gasps, hoping he isn't going to faint.

Laughing, Misha nods. "Not what I had in mind. But all right. If you think we need more blood and gore and supernatural shit, I'm in. And I am going to wipe the floor with your hot ass, Ackles, because I rule Left 4 Dead!"

They are, not surprisingly, good at playing together. They battle monsters the entire afternoon and well into the evening. It's the most fun Jensen has had for a long time. Also, it keeps Misha's hands and mind occupied elsewhere, a blessing in itself.

They finish the game when Misha yawns and rubs his eyes, perhaps a bit more strained and tired that he'd like Jensen to see. Jensen cannot help but noticing the disappointed expression on Misha's face when they separate. Anyway, Jensen stays on the couch for the night.

*

Monday morning comes with the same gray light, the same snow and the same strong winds. Jensen checks his itinerary, and his plane is, miracle of miracles, not cancelled. The night has been quiet; Misha has been sleeping more than he's been coughing for he hasn't woken Jensen up. It's still damned cold, though, and Jensen wishes he'd slept in a proper bed and not on a small couch; he sore and stiff and he needs a long, hot bath to loosen up. That he's tense because he's been cooped up with the man he loves without being able to act on it does occur to him, however. Jensen is ambivalent about the entire ordeal. He wants Misha, and he doesn't. He wants to tell his parents about... Misha, and he doesn't. He wants to go home for Christmas, only home doesn't feel like Texas or the house he shares with Jared.

It feels like... here.

With Misha.

Deciding to be a good slave, Jensen pulls on his clothes. The heating system isn't the best and Jensen is cold. Lots of coffee and a decent breakfast, for Misha too, that should help. At least it will distract him from the thoughts that are so difficult to deal with. Instead Jensen cooks breakfast. He makes oatmeal with apples and cinnamon, brews a giant pot of coffee (Kona, light roast) and cremates a few slices of bacon to go into the French toasts he's making. He arranges everything on a tray. He takes it. Then he stops, hesitating for seconds, empty, not knowing where to go at all. Texas, couch, into the closet, out of it?

Into the fire?

He has four hours left with Misha before he sits on a plane and he still feels as the most confused man on the planet. It has to stop, and there is just one person who can stop it. There is no one else who can take the decision for him. And Jensen makes his choice.

Bedroom.

Misha is awake, looking refreshed. He's busy texting someone, probably some of the Twitter-people.

"My minions love you this morning," Misha informs him. "They think you're a hero for taking care of me. Not that I'd lack volunteers. Probably around ten thousand who'd do it." Misha looks adoringly at Jensen. "But I only want you, Jen."

Jensen puts the tray down on the bed. "You told your fangirls that I'm here?" Jensen has difficulties picking his jaw up from somewhere a floor down. "You do understand that we won't hear the end of it before, let's say... 2017?" Jensen is not pleased, but he cannot in good conscience berate Misha for telling. Not if he is to stand by his decision. Then an innocent Tweet about him and Misha spending time together will be _nothing_. Good thing, of course, that the fans are already writing stories about Dean and Cas in abundance or the speculations on Cas and Dean's relationship would reach new heights.

Either Misha is reading Jensen's thoughts or they share the same brainwave. "And we'll see an increase in Misha slash Jensen RPF by tomorrow," Misha grins. "Wanna read some?"

Jensen blushes vividly. "No! Misha, please. Don't tease me. It's bad enough as it is."

Leave it to Misha to be direct. "With the fans? Or with you and me?"

 _Awkward_. Jensen grabs the tray and pours coffee for Misha. "Here, we need to eat before it gets cold!" Jensen can't stop wondering if Misha actually reads fanfic about the two of them. Jensen is so not asking. He won't. "I need to be at the airport at noon." Jensen babbles; the shocks that Misha gives him... it's almost enough to send him in a state of panic. His resolve is waning. Maybe he should go back to loving Misha from a safe distance? If he can't manage one innocent comment on Twitter now, his life is going to be a living hell, after...

"They write about us no matter what you do," Misha says softly, once more so tuned in to Jensen's thoughts that it makes him believe in mind-reading. "But they'll support you. It'll make it easier."

Afraid to ask exactly what Misha means, Jensen takes the empty side of the bed. "I'm... not comfortable with..." he says, looking into the cup of coffee Misha is handing him. "Privacy. "

"I know, Jen." Misha reaches across the bed and puts his hand on Jensen's arm, stroking it as he would pet a nervous animal. "Maybe you need to ask yourself if your need to hide keeps you from doing what you want with your life."

And that's the problem, isn't it? That he's kept himself from doing what he wants most of all. Not knowing what to say, mostly because Misha is right, Jensen starts eating his breakfast. He's well through the French toast and done with the oatmeal when he finally speaks. "I have to leave soon," Jensen says. "There's so much snow; dunno how long it'll take to... Are you sure you'll manage by yourself? Are you going to be all right?"

Misha sips his coffee, watching Jensen without a word. The pause drags out. The only sounds are Misha's breathing and the low tick-tock of the old alarm clock on the bedside table, ticking away the time they have.

"Misha?"

Turning away, Misha puts down the mug next to the clock. There is a sense of change in the air, as if something is shifting. Perhaps it's the storm. "I'm not feeling so well," Misha admits. He looks at Jensen directly now, eyes sad. "I'd hoped. I- You know." He looks up at Jensen. "I'm burning. Maybe the fever's rising? Feel me, I'm..." Misha makes a pathetic sound.

Jensen knows something isn't right. Misha is, if anything, not helpless. Then it dawns and it is something of a revelation, because if Jensen is right Misha _wants_ him here. "Mish, are you trying to play me?"

Misha's skin takes a slightly rose hue that has nothing to do with fever. "Does it work?"

"You could just ask me directly if there's something you want."

"Stay." Misha looks up at Jensen, his eyes very sincere and very blue. It's his Cas-look, only he's not acting, not now. Jensen knows Cas when he sees him, and this is not him. This is _Misha_ , honesty, need. And Jensen is losing. He can fight Misha's good-natured manipulation. He can pretend to ignore the flirting and the touches. But he cannot stand against Misha's honest plea. It doesn't exactly make it easier that Misha is looking up at him, puppy-eyed and with the luscious lips separated a bit, this soft, kissable mouth that has driven Jensen insane from want for longer than he'd like to admit.

Then Misha bats his eyelashes and wets his upper lip with the tip of his tongue.

Jensen knows defeat when it smacks him in the face.

It takes him half an hour on the phone (Misha's, that should teach him) to calm his mom down, promising that he'll be there for New Year's if the weather permits. It takes only ten minutes to convince his travel agent that he hasn't gone entirely bonkers and that he doesn't need the flight out of Vancouver that it took the travel agent half a day to bribe his way into.

Misha watches and listens with a smile that lights up the entire room. Hell, it lights up Jensen's entire week.

Jensen ends the call and hands Misha the phone. He can't stop looking at Misha as if it's the first time he sees him.

"I feel much better now," Misha says, grinning like a loon. "I think the fever has gone down."

Jensen finds that very unlikely for it feels as if the room is burning hot. Misha is incredible. "You're not going to win an Oscar for that performance, Collins. Manipulative little bitch you are. And transparent."

"If you ask me, I think that I need a reward." Misha's smile is blinding. "And if no one is giving it to me, I am going to take it myself."

And without further ado, Misha leans over and kisses Jensen on the mouth, finally, _finally_ letting him have what he wanted for years.

It is nothing like Jensen had thought it'd be. The control he's been clinging to so tightly is taken away from him in a moment. In the short span of time between actions, between sitting up against the headboard and lying down on the soft bed Jensen falls, Misha's lean body over his the only thing he has to hang on to. It's a deep fall without indications of whether it will ever end. The ground disappears and Jensen hovers, caught in the kiss, entangled with Misha, falling with him until there is nothing left but this intense feeling of flying.

It is almost as if he can hear the flutter of wings, carrying him towards heaven.

Confidently Misha takes what he wants, deepens the kiss until it is almost unbearably good. The taste of coffee and cinnamon. The slick sensation of wet lips. The hot breath they share, gasping for air and for more. The feeling of wings and butterflies, of mercury and blazing fires. Jensen's heart beats frantically. A leg between his. A hand on his chest, underneath his t-shirt, a dry, callused palm on his stomach.

Jensen thinks in a moment of clarity that he can't do this without tearing up. It's so intense, so hot. So much larger than anything he's ever done with anyone, so much more meaningful. There is just Misha. The scent of peppermint and vanilla. The sensation of Misha's messy, rumpled hair between his fingers. Misha's skin against his when clothes disappear and there is nothing between them, nothing holding them back any longer. Misha's tongue in his mouth, in deep, then licking at his lips. Bites, his lip sucked between Misha's full lips (Oh, God, those lips). The mere sight of them, red and wet and even more swollen makes Jensen push up from the bed, demanding Misha's mouth again and again until Misha, too, can't breathe.

They pause, gasping for the air that seems to have left the room. Perhaps it has been devoured by the fire that burns between them. There is such wonder in Misha's eyes as he looks at Jensen; not even at work, acting, has Jensen seen Misha look at him like that: as if the universe he seeks to take over currently consists of the two of them and nothing else. No one else. Nothing else matters.

"Misha." Jensen clutches at Misha's shoulders and comes, Misha's hip rubbing against him, almost too hard, too harsh.

"Wanted you for so long," Misha whispers, dipping his fingers in Jensen's come. He jerks himself off, almost showing off. "Want you to see how much," Misha moans, thumb rubbing over Jensen's lips. Jensen licks it, wrapping his tongue around it, sucking it in.

"Fuck, yes! Oh, Jen." Misha is done for, coming in warm spurts over Jensen's chest. With eyes closed, breathless from their kisses, his hand stroking his dick languidly, Misha presents a picture that Jensen will savor for a very long time. He sighs again, a relaxed, content sigh. He makes a small smile, barely a contraction of the corners of his mouth. "Finally, baby."

And Jensen was right. He couldn't do this without tearing up. There's so much emotion. Release and pleasure and the mere knowledge that Misha won't shy away. Jensen smiles too, the burn of tears lurking in his eyes. "So, the universe? No plans on world domination today?" He reaches for Misha again, for more kisses and more warmth.

"I don't care about the universe," Misha murmurs. "I have you. So shut up and kiss me."

They kiss for a very long time, until they are both sticky and sweaty and smeared with drying semen. Misha's stomach growls, informing them that there actually is a world outside Misha's small bedroom. Jensen is dozing off, his head resting on Misha's shoulder. Misha strokes his cheek. "Bath and lunch?" Misha asks.

"Mhm," Jensen agrees. "Sounds good." He raises up on one arm, turning to look at Misha. "And if you as much as think of Tweeting any of this, I will _end_ you," he growls, unable to stop himself from smiling the goofiest, happiest smile at Misha. "I mean it. I'll cry, but I'll kill you dead."

"You wound me," Misha sobs theatrically. "I'd never-"

"You bet I'll wound you. And it'll be totally entertaining to hear you explain to others why you aren't able to sit. It's not going to be easy to pull out your smartphone from where I'm going to shove it." Jensen yanks Misha close, kissing him hungrily.

It takes yet another half hour before they reach the bathroom.

*

"I wonder," Jensen says, later, when they are sitting together on the couch, Jensen in Misha's arms, "whether I'm the king of wishful thinking or just the consort." Misha appears serious about what they're doing, but Jensen would like to be sure. That there is more to it than a few days of comfort and sex.

"My consort," Misha says, a mischievous grin on his face. "Definitely my consort. I'm the king of _everything_!"

"And what do you wish for that made you king?" Jensen demands. "It is Christmas after all. You might have it." As usual Misha's delusions of grandeur is extremely... delusional. But no less amusing. Good thing, though, that Misha's probably the most mentally sound person Jensen knows. He wears the Crazy like a cloak: he can remove it if he wants to. 

"I've been such a bad boy this year," Misha grins. "All sneaky and manipulating and plotting. I think, though, that I need to rely on somebody else than Santa to get what I want." He slides a finger casually down Jensen's hand, caressing it slowly. "You volunteering?"

"Depends." Snuggling up to Misha under the blankets makes Jensen sigh happily. "If it involves moving, forget it." He would like to know what Misha wants for Christmas, though.

"I'd like a diamond-studded g-string, and a matching hat, a Stetson, I think. I'd look-"

"Like a stripper. Not that I mind."

"Then maybe a wildebeest? Would upset the neighbors, though. I like wildebeests. They're odd."

Jensen coughs. "I think you should have one. It'd like you. A lot."

"I'd like one of them too."

"A what?"

"Alot."

"There is no such thing." Jensen laughs.

"On the Internet there is. They're cute. Alots. Look 'em up. Google, Jensen."

"Misha?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever tried being serious for five consecutive minutes?"

There's a pause. It's far too long. "I don't think so. Would you like me to try? Wouldn't expect too much, though."

"Depends."

"You say that. A lot. And what does it depend on?"

"Whether you'd like to tell me why you've been bad and why Santa won't give you what you want for Christmas."

"Oh, I'd like to. Wouldn't count on anything inside the range of normalcy, still."

Misha nuzzles Jensen's ear which doesn't exactly do much for his concentration in general. Jensen hums and moves a bit, enough for him to be able to look up at Misha. "You're feeling better, aren't you?" Jensen can't stop looking at Misha; he stares at him, he thinks, exactly like Cas stares at Dean: with love and need and a pinch of total confusion.

"You're kissing me, yeah?" As if that'd explain everything.

"Not if you don't tell me why you're the king of wishful thinking." Jensen moves a bit so that Misha can't kiss him. Stupid move, of course, no one in their right mind wouldn't want Misha's lips anywhere on their body. Luckily it seems that that particular right is now Jensen's exclusively. Doesn't mean he can't tease Misha. "And we should probably touch upon the subject on you being a bad Misha, too. Won't do to reward you if you haven't deserved it."

"I'm not _well_ ," Misha attempts. "Can't do that to me." He pulls Jensen down for yet another scorching kiss, his arm around Jensen's neck.

Coldly Jensen simply presses his lips together, denying Misha access until he gives up and releases his hold. "Oh no, Mish! Not going to work. Tell me." The temptation is too large. Jensen kisses Misha willingly; it takes some time before he's ready to hear what mischief Misha has been up to.

"I've... Been watching you," Misha admits, looking at Jensen innocently. "For some time." He strokes Jensen's back languidly, placing small kisses along his neck. Jensen hisses, impatience and pleasure mingling.

"And what did you see?" Jensen asks. "Since you didn't do anything?"

"But I did do something, so the wishful thinking sorta... changed. That's why I've been bad." Misha flashes a wide grin, biting his lower lip as if there was a bit of insecurity thrown into the confidence. "I made a bet."

Frowning, Jensen sits up. A bet about... on... him? If Misha mentions kissing Jensen and that bet in the same sentence now, Jensen is going to murder him in so many new and interesting ways.

Obviously Misha, being as clever as he is, has made that connection too. "Oh no! Not like that." Again Misha proves that being a mind-reader is quite useful. "I'd never-"

"You would." Jensen laughs, relieved that Misha didn't make any bets that involved kissing Jensen or any... performances better kept in private.

"Okay, so I would, but I didn't. I'd never risk this." The expression of tenderness in Misha's eyes tells more than anything that the intimacy isn't just a bit of fooling around for him. "Us. If you knew how long I've wanted-"

"You're serious?" Jensen winches. "That came out wrong. It wasn't what I meant, Mish. It's just that I... You really want this? We risk so much."

"And what would that be?" Misha asks. "Falling in love, although that one's too late to fix for me. Getting what we both want? That is if I've read you right. You do want me." He pushes himself up, leaning in to press a kiss to Jensen's mouth. "Happiness? Double the dirty laundry to do on Sundays?"

Yeah, falling in love is hard to fix for Jensen, too. He is deeply in love already; he wasn't sure about how Misha felt, not until it was said aloud. Misha is in love with him. "Yeah," he says, determined to do what he'd promised himself earlier. If Misha wants him, he is going to acknowledge it openly, if not eagerly. "Our careers. Friends. Family. Jared teasing us into next century," Jensen lists. "If you really want-"

"Let me tell you why I've been bad," Misha interrupts. "Maybe that'll make you understand how much I want to have a chance with you. The bet wasn't about you. The bet was a challenge. I tried to goad Eric into letting Cas kiss Dean. It had to be Eric who made that choice. You know... daring him to write into the script what we all know is already there between Cas and Dean; thought perhaps he'd be willing, now that he's out and only the consulting producer. You know... take the chance. Told him he was too much of a chicken to show a positive gay role model in the show. We haven't really had one since Charlie. I'd have liked to... practice with you. Rehearse. So that I could show you, let you know how good it can be between us, even by character proxy. That way you'd still have a way to back out if it wasn't what I... If you didn't want me."

"You? You're not only insane but clearly also blind. And deaf. And generally without any senses. I'm totally in love with you and I've been for... years. So you are so not the king of wishful anything!" Jensen smiles. "That'd be me. Years, Misha. Of wishing. Maybe I need to abdicate now? Wish came true." Jensen strokes Misha's cheek, letting his hand wander down his shoulder, to his waist, then cupping his ass. "I want you," Jensen admits, "You think I'd be here, in your bed for a quick affair? I want you so bad, Misha... since... I can't remember when."

"Doesn't matter. You have me now." Misha leans in and kisses Jensen again, sighing softly. "But if I'd known a flu would work so well, I'd would have gotten one years ago, although the idea of kissing you on screen has its merits too."

"Maybe you can still make Eric cave in," Jensen suggests, not entirely appalled by the idea. Cas has earned that kiss. And since they have the rest of Christmas break to practice, in case Misha's crazy plotting actually makes Kripke do Misha's bidding, Jensen is going to make sure it's will be a damned good kiss. "You might be lucky and it turns out that Santa has a sense of humor. Or he's really gay and goes with the flow and gives you and Cas that kiss."

"I've got my biggest wish already," Misha says, stroking Jensen's cheek, leaving no doubt precisely what, or rather who he wished for. "But I'm still onto the wishful thinking on one of the smaller ones." The smile Misha smiles is wicked. It's obvious what Misha wishes for and it's too soon for that. Despite his reluctance, Jensen still shares Misha's bed that night. Mutual blowjobs aren't too bad a substitute. As a side effect, Jensen's reluctance towards being in over his head is almost non-existing.

*

It's the sound of the phone that wakes Jensen up on Christmas morning. He grabs it, eyes closed, yawning. It's Jared.

"Merry Christmas," Jensen manages, swallowing yet another yawn.

Jared wishes him a Merry Christmas, too, inquiring whether Jensen's at his parents' house.

Next to Jensen Misha stirs, stretches and wraps his arms around Jensen. Soft lips slide over his cheek, small kisses are pressed against his skin.

Somehow Jensen knows, exactly like he's known earlier, that he has reached yet another dangerous point. Crossroads, stumbling stone, freedom... It can be all of those; it has everything to do with the approach. Jensen tilts his head, giving Misha room to do what he's doing. Jensen sighs happily, distracted by Misha's kisses.

"Jensen?" Jared's voice pulls him back to reality. "You at home?"

"No. I'm at Misha's."

"He's still down with the flu?"

Jensen's lips turn upwards. "No."

"So?"

"So he's still in bed. With me." Jensen's smile grows bigger at the loud gasp in the other end.

"Erm. In bed? With you?"

"Yeah."

"Do I need to know more?"

"You mean whether we've done it yet? Or do you need to know that Misha is naked and in the process of-" Jensen pauses as Misha sucks his neck. "-making a rather nasty love bite on my neck?"

"You did it?" Jared sounds surprised and happy and a little shocked. "Finally. I told you he'd-"

"As in, yes, I told Misha I want him. Not the other _did_. Yet."

"Not going to ask more questions. I'm happy for you, you know that. Love you, Jen. Have fun. And merry whatever it is you're doing with Misha."

There's a click and Jared's gone. A little numb, Jensen puts the phone back on the nightstand. It wasn't as painful as he'd thought it'd be.

Misha beams. "You told him!"

"I did!" Jensen laughs giddily. "Didn't hurt. He's happy for us."

"So you got your Christmas gift... a happy Jared." Misha pushes up on his knees, straddling Jensen. "I think I want mine now." Leaning down, Misha nibbles at Jensen's neck. Misha smells of sleep and warmth and a little bit of mint. Jensen inhales deeply. He loves Misha's scent. "Anything you wanna give me, as long as you're here in my bed and naked." Misha whispers, his lips brushing over Jensen's skin. "Mad about you," Misha murmurs and goes on nibbling his way down Jensen's chest.

"Mmm, yes." It feels so good. Misha's good at what he does; experienced hands follow the curve of Jensen's hips, a bit further down, thumbs rubbing at the line between hip and thigh. Jensen hardens; not much is needed to get him hard these days. A look from Misha, the promise of wicked, hot, delightful kisses and touches is by far enough. "I've-" Jensen starts, then pauses, feeling like a teenager. "I've never been with a man, you know... had sex. I want..."

Misha looks up; no trace of surprise. "Anything you want, Jen."

"Messed around with Jared, you know, kissing and frotting, but..."

"Shut up, not a word about Jared when you're in _my_ bed," Misha growls. He's joking, but he's also right.

"Not experienced," Jensen states. "I haven't. I want."

"Want what?" Misha can be cruel. "I'll give you anything." He licks Jensen's nipple, making it quite difficult to think clearly.

Blushing slightly Jensen mans up. He has to; Misha is going to tease him if he flinches. "I want _you_. To- to be my first."

"And last," Misha demands, looking very overlord-ish. Then his eyes turn soft. "Oh, Jen. Best Christmas gift ever!"

"Sorry I didn't wrap it," Jensen manages, fighting his embarrassment. He breathes in shakily. He wants Misha so badly.

"I like the package," says Misha and licks a trail from Jensen's nipples to his belly. "Like it a lot."

How much, exactly, Jensen finds out when he gives over himself to Misha. Misha licks and kisses and sucks, driving Jensen closer to an edge he doesn't want to hold on to. He wants all the sensations, the tension, the slight pain as Misha's fingers slide into his body, the unbearable desire, the arousal that thunders through him, throbbing with every touch, every kiss. Jensen gives as good as he gets, exploring every inch of Misha's slender legs, every little physical element that makes Misha so incredibly attractive. Lips, hips, cock, ass. The way his lips look around Jensen's cock as Misha takes it down his throat. Jensen has to touch, to feel the full lips stretching around him. It makes Jensen weak with desire. He can't take much more, not without coming in Misha's delicious mouth.

Pulling at Misha's hair, Jensen moans loudly. "I want it, God, Misha, please! Fuck me, please! I want it. Want you to come in me. Want you!" It's all Jensen can do, _want_. He longs for Misha to take everything; there is no holding back, not anymore. He has made his decision. Wantonly Jensen spreads his legs wider, reaching down, rubbing two fingers over his wet, open hole, desperate for more, for the feeling of being taken. "Do it, Mish. Fuck me. Want you to make me take all of you."

The half-choked moan that Misha makes tells more than anything how much Misha wants it. "Dammit, Jen. I wanted to take my time. Make it last." Misha hovers over Jensen, holding himself up on one arm. He's fumbling for a condom, awkwardly trying to kiss Jensen at the same time.

The sound of the package ripped open, the sound of rubber sliding over skin send shivers of lust through Jensen as Misha rolls the condom on. It's dirty-hot, lying on his back, his entrance exposed, oil running down his ass when Misha readies himself, his hand working the condom in place. "I always imagined that I'd be the one to throw you on your back and fuck you senseless," Jensen murmurs. "To have you under me, your ass clenching hard around my cock." That was how he pictured it, Misha under him, begging for Jensen to fuck him. He'd never thought that Misha would be this dominant in bed, he'd thought him to be playful and... different. But Misha's confidence makes Jensen feel desired and safe. It's much better than his fantasy.

"Disappointed?" Misha's growl is hot against Jensen's cheek. "Don't worry, baby. When I'm through with you, you'll be too worn out to care."

Jensen makes a sound that says nothing and everything. He is very far from disappointed. Needy, willing to submit to Misha's every wish. Oh, _yes_ , he's willing! Somehow the prospect of being Misha's fuck toy for Christmas is more arousing than Jensen would have thought. "No. I'm surprised. And horny." He moans loudly, looking up at his lover, sliding his hand between them, deliberately letting Misha feel where it goes. He thrusts two fingers inside himself, groaning at the sensation. Raising his hips, so that Misha can feel him, he pulls himself open, rubbing his fingers against the rim of his slicked, open hole. "All yours, Mish. I want it. Now give it to me. Hard."

"Jensen, fuck." Misha bites his lip, breathing erratically. "It's your first time; there will be no _hard_."

Jensen whines his disapproval. "You're being sensible. Stop it!" He clutches at Misha's ass, forcing Misha's cock against his own. Jensen's pre-come moistens them both, the cool wetness tingling at the tip of Jensen's dick. "Please, Misha. Fuck me. Put your cock inside me, do something! Just take me." Jensen is desperate for more and he's willing to beg for it. Usually it's Misha who can't shut up. Now Jensen finds it impossible to do exactly that. He doesn't know where all the filth comes from; maybe it's all the repressed lust and longing for Misha that finally come tumbling out.

"Christ, I thought years of wanting me would have taught you patience." Misha moves a bit, thrusting slick fingers into Jensen along his own. It hurts.

Jensen cries out, the fullness and the stretching feeling far too good. That it hurts a little only helps him focus on pleasure. "Misha!"

Misha pulls out, only to tease the stretched hole with the tip of his cock. "Move your fingers." He closes his eyes, biting his lip, as if it's difficult for him to hold back. "Fuck, I'm not going to last."

Doesn't matter. They have all day, all night, a week and then yet another week. "Now," Jensen demands and pulls Misha closer, sucking at his neck, letting out a mewl as Misha slides into him, a mix of pressure and the most delicious, satisfying feeling. "Want you so bad," Jensen manages, gasping as Misha pushes in deep. "Yeah, like that! God, so good!" Jensen widens his legs, giving Misha more room. "Don't... don't hold back," he sighs. "Wanna see you come."

Moving slowly, Misha lets Jensen adjust. "Ready for more," he groans, clearly on the verge of coming. "Jen... Oh."

"Just shut up and fuck me." Jensen thrusts his hip up, forcing Misha's cock in deep, letting out a deep moan at the sensation. He rubs his own dick against Misha's stomach, needing the friction. Misha's cock hits all right places, not that Jensen would know since he has nothing to compare with, but it's more than good. It's fantastic. Misha's hips snap hard, back and forth, faster, deeper.

"Yes! Oh, Misha!" Jensen cries out, nails sliding down Misha's back, making Misha groan. "Fuck, yes!" Jensen forces his eyes open, watching Misha's flushed face, his open mouth, the wet lips. Jensen can feel Misha tense, as if he's going to come. "Let go." Jensen pushes a hand between them, grabbing his own hard cock, massaging it, hand rubbing fast and hard, too. As the familiar tingle travels up his spine, making him pause, he wraps his legs around Misha's back. "Now, please. Come in me, want you... fuck, Misha, want you love you, fuck me!" Jensen can't stop himself, just as he can't stop the orgasm that hits him hard. Above him Misha cries out, coming seconds before Jensen does. The way Misha pulses inside him prolongs Jensen's release; it is like nothing else, being loved by the man he loves, sharing his release.

The aftermath is a space made of lingering pleasure and soft caresses and kisses. Jensen feels as if he'll never care to move again, not if he can stay in Misha's arms forever. And that is exactly what Jensen wants. Not staying in bed forever, although the prospect certainly is delightful. No, what he wants is forever with Misha, as long as forever usually is. "A lifetime. I need to tell my parents."

Jensen doesn't realize that he's said the words aloud until Misha lazily pulls him close.

"That's how I roll," Misha murmurs, kissing Jensen on the lips. "Lifetime sounds good to me. And you don't have to tell your parents right away, Jen. Or anyone else, for that matter. It's not that I want it out in public yet, just... eventually. We're both serious about this and I'm not going to hide you." Misha looks down at Jensen, his eyes so soft and tender and filled with the love he's finally allowed to show. "I can wait. And I'll stand by you every step on the way, baby. You know... be your shining knight in a dirty trench coat, since we're right out of armor. Me and my army of minions and Jared, too? Anyone better think twice before they mess with me and mine. We'll have your back."

Suddenly Jensen understands fully what it is that has drawn him to Misha in the first place. He should have examined those feelings before, but maybe he was simply too caught up in his anxiety: what would become of him, of his career, of his _life_? He looks at Misha and doesn't see the silly, playful, somewhat immature man that most who aren't close to Misha see. Instead he sees the man who takes care of those close to him, of those who need help and of those who are in need. Misha is so _alive_ , so in love with humanity and with the world. He's making it a better place. That is who Misha is too: protector, poet, idealistic politician, although he'd probably deny the last one.

"I think I understand now," Jensen says, overwhelmed by the feelings he harbors. And he does understand: Misha is _strong_. Jensen will never stand alone; even in the middle of the storm that is bound to happen the moment they go public, he'll be safe. Misha, Jensen is certain, will do what he's always done since he realized how vulnerably exposed Jensen sometimes feel in public. Misha has been there to protect him, Jensen understands. With Misha standing as a bulwark against public exposure, taking most of the attention, Jensen knows he is brave enough to acknowledge his feelings and the relationship they both want. Of course he doesn't want the interviews and the questions and the rebuilding of his career and what it might bring, of course he doesn't. Only, the reward is more precious than anything Jensen can think of. He sighs deeply, relief and happiness mixed, before he looks up at Misha, finally sure that he's making the right choice. "I'm so in love with you," he murmurs softly, kissing Misha's neck. "Love you so fucking much."

*

Winter still holds Vancouver in a tight grip when December turns into January. It doesn't matter to Jensen, he's staying at Misha's anyway. The first week of the new year passes by and Jensen is happy, God, he's happy. Okay, so his parents weren't exactly enthused when he told them that Misha really wasn't a girl's name, but his co-star, not that they didn't know. They've known Misha for years. Could be worse, though. Jensen wasn't disinherited or told that he wasn't welcome in the future. Then again, his parents were always sensible people and they like Misha. It's going to be all right.

The first week of the new year turns into the second and warmer weather makes Vancouver wet and gray. The snow melts and so does Jensen's reluctance. Kept naked and well-fucked might have something to do with it as well, strengthening his decision to acknowledge his relationship with Misha. Jensen simply loves him too much to hide it. Before this he wasn't into displays of affection, not in public. But now? He'd slip, inadvertently kiss Misha at an inappropriate time or touch him too tenderly. Jensen has clearly not been in love, really in love, maddening in love before. He could probably keep up appearances for some time, but not forever. Better take control over how and when they let others know, since touching Misha has become as important as breathing to him.

"Okay," he tells Misha on the morning they are returning to the set. They're pulling on warm coats and heavy boots. "We're not hiding. Not flashing it, though. Whoever finds out finds out. Calling my agent later."

"I love you," Misha says, looking at Jensen so lovingly that Jensen is ready to call CNN and let them announce that Jensen Ackles is head over heels for Misha Collins. Well, perhaps not CNN.

"It's time," Jensen says instead, taking Misha's hand, pulling him outside. He doesn't let go of Misha when their car arrives and he doesn't let go until they have to separate to prepare for the day. Outside his trailer, Misha pulls Jensen into a kiss that makes his body tingle and leaves a sensation of dizziness. His world is turning. He'll make it through, standing. He has Misha to hold on to.

Jensen reaches for his phone, still with Misha's arm around him. He opens the calendar, a great big smile on his face. He types in a new entry. Saturday reminder: taking over world domination with Misha.

Together they can do anything.


End file.
